Observe & Report
by Swinging Cloud
Summary: Santana Lopez thought being a security officer would be a lot more exciting, but literally nothing ever happens on her shifts- until she meets Brittany Pierce. AU Brittana. Two-Shot. SOLOSMU #4
1. Observe & Report

**Summary:** Santana Lopez thought being a security officer would be a lot more exciting, but literally nothing ever happens on her shifts- until she meets Brittany Pierce. AU Brittana. Two-Shot. SOLOSMU #4

**A/N:** Hello all! Hope you are having a great start to your week. :) As you can see, I'm back with another fic for the** SOLSTICE OF SMUT**, and this one will be a two-shot. I should have the second part up early Wednesday morning. (My days run on a different time than everyone else's, in case you're all wondering, since I sleep during the day like a vampire- no, no, not like that!)

Anyways, thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, followed, whatever'd the last story. And I hope you didn't miss out on **jellymankelly's** latest fic of brilliance. Because if you did, that would be sad.

This fic is dedicated to my tumblr wifey and favorite cereal, **killercereal**, who prompted the situation and a lot of the silliness in here. Hopefully it lives up to her expectations, and yours!

No smut in this first part, because, you know, plot. But don't worry, the second chapter should fulfill your desires.

Enjoy~

* * *

Santana Lopez takes her job very seriously.

It's not the most glamorous job in the world, and it's definitely not the job she'd like to have, but the economy sucks, times are hard, and nobody is hiring-

Except rich people.

So as Santana parks her beat-up Toyota in her designated parking spot behind some bushes and straps her gun to her waist, she clears her thoughts and focuses on her upcoming shift. Nothing ever happens at her job site, but she has to be prepared for anything in her line of work.

She's brave.

She's strong.

"Good morning, Sergeant Lopez!"

She's a security officer.

"Morning, Karofsky," she greets in her no-nonse voice as she enters the small office that they use as their head of security base. "Anything to report?"

"No, ma'am," Karofsky says. "Been quiet so far."

She nods absently before signing in, collecting her keys and radio, and walking out to complete her patrol vehicle inspection. Just another average, boring day.

Santana's been a security officer for a little under two years. She'd only taken the job because it was the only thing hiring at the time, and she needed something to support her while she waited for her true calling- the FBI- to open up. She figured it would look good on her resume, but she never planned to be here longer than six months. Now she's a little edgy about getting out, about moving on; she feels trapped. She doesn't want to get stuck here. That's not in her master plan.

Truthfully, she hates it.

She thought it would be more exciting. She thought she'd be handling a lot more _incidents_. Her devotion to her work had gotten her promoted to Sergeant in under a year, and now she's in charge of running various shifts on her site. She's always taken her jobs seriously, because it reflects on her character- eventually, when the FBI _does_ hire, they'll want references. She can't just blow this off, it's important. So she dots her Is and crosses her Ts and bides her time, trying to make the most of her shitty career limbo.

It's not so bad, she supposes. She gets a nice holiday bonus, her weapons and uniforms are supplied to her, she gets to cruise around in a Dodge Charger all day and look official, and the residents who live in the community are nice enough. There are worse jobs.

It's just- nothing ever happens.

(Until one day, something does.)

* * *

Santana starts her Friday mid-shift just like any other. It doesn't have any meaning for her- unlike most people, she's not blessed with weekends off. She spends a good part of her morning driving around, patrolling, and making various runs between the three gatehouses at the entrances to the community. Nothing is out of the ordinary. No alarm calls. No burglaries. Perhaps she and the rest of her team do their jobs too well- not that that's a bad thing on her record, but she really would like some action.

Her radio beeps at her to tell her it's dying, so she swings into a parking spot at the office located near the main gate to swap the battery out for her spare. She's standing at the front desk, fiddling with the battery release lever on the back of the radio, when someone enters the office, and her entire life changes.

"Excuse me," the voice of an angel says, and Santana turns to behold the most gorgeous girl she's certain she's ever laid eyes on. Blonde hair frames a flawless face. Playful blue eyes stare at her intensely. The woman is tall, and lean, and her legs seem to go on for days. Speechless, Santana brings her gaze back up to the woman's face before pausing- those _legs_, though-

The girl catches her drifting gaze and stares into her eyes, and is a lot more obvious in her appreciation of Santana's body. She licks her lips- Santana nearly faints from the sight of her tongue darting out- scans her gaze down Santana's chest, and all at once Santana feels too hot beneath her uniform collar, and she clears her throat, flustered.

"Yes?" she asks, her voice hoarse. She's surprised she found her voice at all.

"Hi," the woman purrs, and Santana feels her knees shake a little. "I'm Brittany Pierce. I'm new here."

"Pierce?" Puck asks from behind the desk, and Santana startles a little. She'd forgotten Puck was even in the room. She'd forgotten the room even existed. She'd forgotten _anything_ even existed besides the beautiful, perfect woman in front of her. The angelic, gorgeous, sexy, flawless-

"Mmhm- Doug's daughter?"

"Oh," Puck says dumbly. He hasn't stopped staring. Santana hasn't either. Her mouth might even be hanging open a little, she doesn't know.

"Oh," Santana echoes, sounding even dumber than Puck, if possible.

Brittany, the perfect woman, giggles, sounding playful and somehow so _sexy_ it makes Santana's heart ache. "Daddy's on an expedition to Tristan da Cunha, so I'm staying here for the month he'll be gone to take care of Commander of the Armies of the North."

"Uhh…." Santana blinks, dumbfounded. She has no idea how to process anything that Brittany's said. Truthfully, her mind is still back on _legs_.

"Daddy's dog," Brittany explains with a pleasant smile that makes Santana's knees weaken even further. How is she even still standing? How is this woman so _unfair_? "I'm going to need a transponder for my car, right?" Brittany pauses. "I mean, I could drive Daddy's car, but I'm really more comfortable in my Audi. That Range Rover is just too big, and one time when I was seventeen I backed it into the garage door and we had to have the entire thing torn down and reconstructed, it was awful."

Santana stares. Puck stares.

"Sorry," Brittany apologizes, her cheeks coloring a pretty pink. Santana wants to press a kiss to the blush. She clenches her jaw. "Is there a form I can fill out, or..?"

"Of course," Puck says, snapping out of his stupor. He pulls open a drawer and rifles through the files to pull out the paperwork, suddenly all smooth charm. Santana hates him for having such finesse- she's never had any game, but a quick glance to Brittany shows that the woman hasn't taken her eyes off her, and the realization has her stomach coming up with this _neat_ game of tying itself into knots.

"What's your name?" Brittany purrs softly, ignoring Puck as he searches for her forms.

Santana's throat feels like she ate an entire pillow's worth of cotton, like the people on _My Strange Addiction_. When she speaks, her voice is raspy and she wants to mentally punch herself for sounding like such a loser. "L-Lopez."

Brittany giggles again, teasingly, taking a step closer, and Santana's completely smacked in the face by the scent of _perfection_. Brittany smells _so good_, it's taking all her willpower not to lean in and inhale her like a cocaine addict doing a line. Maybe _she_ belongs on _My Strange Addiction_, because she thinks she might be hooked on everything about the woman in front of her after having known her for less than five minutes. "I can see _that_." Brittany points to Santana's nametag, which reads _Sergeant S. Lopez_, and Santana wants to punch herself again. "I want your _first_ name. Or shall I simply call you 'S'?"

If anyone else would have said those words, Santana might have gotten fired up. She might've put the verbal smackdown on the person, cutting them with some vicious words. But the way Brittany said it, almost fondly, has her practically stumbling over her own tongue to answer her.

"It's _Santana_."

"Mm," Brittany hums with a nod, and it sounds like a borderline moan. Brittany licks her lips again, as if she just swallowed Santana's name and decided it was _delicious_, and smiles. "_Gorgeous_."

"Uh-" And okay, Santana's really got to start learning how to speak.

"I'll see you around, _Santana_," Brittany says with a wink, and the way she says it, like a promise, lets Santana know that she definitely means it. Brittany turns to leave, and Santana's eyes are immediately drawn, as if by unknown forces that run the entire universe, to her ass, watching the way her hips sway as she walks out of the office.

She takes a deep, shaky breath. The door closes. It's silent for a moment, and then Puck whistles.

"Damn."

Santana can't even answer. She picks up her radio in a daze, wandering outside to her patrol car like a zombie. All she can see is blue eyes. All she can think about is the way a pink tongue looked wetting totally kissable lips. All she can hear is the way Brittany said her name, her mouth caressing the vowels. All she can remember is how pretty Brittany looked when she blushed, when she winked at her. _She winked at her! _

She drives around for the rest of her shift, patrolling; but if asked, she couldn't tell you a single thing that happened, other than which house Brittany's blue Audi is parked at.

* * *

Santana's never looked forward to going to work, but the day after she meets Brittany Pierce, she arrives for her shift vibrating with an excited, nervous energy. She's not fooling herself by thinking Ms. Pierce would want anything to do with her. She's long-since convinced herself that Ms. Pierce was just being overly friendly, and that she's a naturally nice, flirty person. It has nothing to do with _her_.

Besides, her job is to protect the residents. To make them feel safe. She can't very well go being unprofessional. She has an image to maintain, and career goals to aspire to. No matter how beautiful and perfect Brittany Pierce seems, she drives an Audi, and Santana drives a Toyota. They come from two different worlds.

But Santana can't deny, Brittany is nice to look at. Which is why, as she's driving her patrol car around, she almost crashes into a mailbox when she spots Brittany in the driveway, wearing a bikini and soaping up her car.

Her eyes nearly bulge out of her head as she spots all Brittany's tan skin, all her lean, toned muscle, all her perfect ass and breasts. Brittany's bent over, washing the hood of her car, her blonde hair in a loose ponytail. Soap suds drip down her calves and forearms, and the sun reflects off of random drops of water covering her skin. Santana has to swerve to avoid crashing into the neighbor's mailbox. She slams on the brakes, taking a deep, calming breath to try and slow her pounding pulse, feeling embarrassed, because she _knows_ Brittany saw her.

Sure enough, when she peeks out the window, Brittany's standing next to her Audi in all her scantily-clad glory watching her, and Santana can't help but stare at her clearly-defined abs in return. Her eyes drift lower to her toned thighs, and as the most inappropriate thought of what they'd feel like wrapped around her forces its way into her brain, she hears Brittany call her name.

Her eyes snap up to Brittany's face, which is smiling at her, making Santana wonder if she noticed her staring. Brittany waves, friendly and excitedly, and Santana waves back timidly, hiding behind her aviators, and realizes they're probably why Brittany didn't notice her creepy leering. Swallowing, she grips the wheel tightly and focuses her attention away from Brittany and her sinful perfection. She drives away at a crawl, blushing like mad.

But she can't get the image of soap suds dripping down Brittany's body out of her brain, and it follows her around the rest of the day.

* * *

Santana doesn't know if she should be thankful or resentful that she hasn't been able to make it through a shift without running into Brittany Pierce all week.

Even when she spends the whole time avoiding driving by Brittany's house, she'll see Brittany jogging through the neighborhood, dressed in nothing but a bright pink sports bra and the tiniest running shorts that ever existed, sweat dripping down between the valley of her breasts and driving Santana absolutely insane. Usually by Brittany's side is a very large brindle-colored pit bull, whom she assumes is Commander of the Armies of the North, keeping pace with her and looking like a beefy body guard. Every time Santana passes them in her patrol car, Brittany offers her an enthusiastic wave and a smile that makes her want to curl into a ball and die from being so incredibly beautiful.

She's got to stop watching TNT movies.

Douglas Pierce's house is in a little cul-de-sac at the end of a long, curved street. It's a huge mansion situated next to the lake, perched on a slight hill. Santana doesn't _have_ to drive by it- since it's kind of offset from the rest of the community, with the closest neighbor being on the opposite side of the cul-de-sac- but she takes her job _very_ seriously, and not patrolling an area just because she's afraid to see whatever suggestive activity Brittany Pierce is up to would not be an example of her properly performing her duties.

She's not _really_ afraid.

And besides- Brittany isn't doing those things on purpose, right? Santana just takes them as being sexual because she finds Brittany attractive. Which is unprofessional.

And if Santana Lopez is one thing, it's professional.

"_Central to 624_."

Santana clicks her radio. "624, go ahead."

"_10-20_."

_Location_? Santana glances up. "8478 Korat."

"_There's a Signal 22 at 5681 Chartreux_. _Response code 1._"

"10-4." Santana nods to herself, turning her car around and running through the address in her head. Signal 22- _disturbance_. 5681 Chartreux Avenue-

Pierce residence.

_Shit_.

Santana slams her foot on the gas, her heartbeat accelerating as fast as her car. Her stomach tenses as she flips on her flashing lights, and drives- as quickly as the speed limit will allow, she's not a cop after all- to the Pierce house. She hopes it's nothing. She can't remember the last time she had a Signal 22, and if it was anyone else's house she was driving to, she might be excited that she was finally seeing some action.

But all she can feel as she flips her lights off a block away from her destination and pulls her car over one house away, is fear.

After radioing in that she's arrived on-scene, she exits her car, listening for any noises that might tell her something is out of place. As she walks carefully up to the house, her nerves vibrating and her senses on high alert, she can hear Commander of the Armies of the North barking viciously, and her hand immediately drifts to the pistol on her left side. She raises her right hand to knock, aligning herself strategically with the door, and when the door opens, Brittany looks completely stressed.

"Santana!" she says, relieved, and before Santana even realizes what's happening, she's being drawn into a tight hug and Brittany's burying her face into her neck. "Thank goodness you're here," she breathes.

Santana is stunned into inaction. She's not sure if she should combust from the feeling of Brittany's arms around her, of Brittany's body pressed against her, or if she should hug back. She was already tense, but as Brittany's hands clutch at her uniform shirt, she feels herself growing even more rigid. Brittany's hair smells like what she imagines heaven will smell like, and her body is so soft and supple and-

A loud bark interrupts their moment, and suddenly, Santana's on high alert again, pulling away from Brittany, hovering her left hand over her gun. "Ms. Pierce, what's the problem?"

"There's an intruder in my house," Brittany tells her, and Santana swallows as her adrenaline kicks her reflexes up to the next level.

"Where?" she demands, her tone serious. She draws her pistol and brings it to the low-ready position, stepping cautiously into the house scanning for any sign of the intruder, her heart pounding madly both from the possibility of danger and from Brittany's close proximity. "Should I call the police?"

"No, that won't be necessary," Brittany assures. "Maximus has him cornered."

Santana tries to ignore her confusion over the dog's name, and follows the sound of his barking into the kitchen, clearing rooms as she goes. When she reaches the kitchen, she quickly looks around, but doesn't see anyone. "Where?" she asks tensely.

Brittany points to a corner dramatically. "There!"

Santana drops her gaze to the corner and sees-

A frog.

A fucking _frog_.

She's instantly angry. "You called me for a frog?" she demands heatedly, holstering her weapon. Someone could've been hurt!

"Of course. Who else am I supposed to call?" Brittany asks.

Santana's stumped. She's got her, there. And since Santana takes her job _very_ seriously, she ignores Commander- Maximus- the dog- _whatever_- and tries to scoop the slippery little amphibian up, telling Brittany to, "Stay back, ma'am. I've got this under control."

The frog hops out of her grasp several times, and she spends the next five minutes frustrating herself chasing the blasted thing around the kitchen while the dog barks fiercely near her face. When she finally catches the squirming critter, she carries it to the backyard and releases it into the grass; it looks at her for a moment before hopping away. She sighs.

When she re-enters the house, she's met with a very angry pit bull.

The dog corners her and barks, and Brittany apologizes repeatedly from her kneeling position beside him on the floor, tugging on his collar and cooing softly.

"You should pet him, so he knows you're a friend," Brittany suggests, but Commander of the Armies of the North doesn't look like he's having any of that. In fact, he looks as if he might enjoy Santana's hand for lunch. Santana's not scared of dogs- but she's also not dumb enough to try and pet one that's eyeing her like he just found a new chew toy.

"Come on," Brittany encourages. She reaches for Santana's hand, and when their hands touch, Santana feels lame as fuck for admitting she feels tingles spread through her fingertips. Brittany directs her hand to Commander of the Armies of the North's head, and then unnecessarily guides her hand into petting over it, touching her for far longer than Santana's sure she needs to. Not that she's going to complain.

"There, see?" Brittany coos. She looks at Santana and smiles. "He likes you."

_Likes_ is not really the word Santana would have used- barely tolerates, maybe- but she's not going to argue with the woman who is the only reason she still has two hands.

"Maximus Decimus Meridius is a Russell Crowe fan," Brittany explains, without actually explaining anything. "Just like Daddy. Aren't you?" she coos. She cups the dog's face and his tongue lolls out at the affection. She turns to look up at Santana, wrapping her arms around the dog's powerful neck. "They're super excited about his new movie," she says, and Santana takes a moment to connect Brittany's thoughts together. "They've watched all his Blu-rays together."

Santana shifts awkwardly, unsure of what to say. She scratches behind Commander of the Armies of the North's ear, and he sits, and Brittany beams, making Santana's heart ache. She wants to make Brittany smile like that, always.

"Thank you," she says. "He's going through a rough time. He's very sad Daddy's gone- aren't you, boy?" She scratches under his chin and his tail wags. "Aren't you just so sad?" She kisses his nose and rubs her cheek against his, and Santana feels stupid for being jealous of a dog for the very first time in her entire life.

"I really should get going," Santana starts, feeling on edge in the Pierce house, especially since she has no further reason to be there pertaining to her job.

"Okay," Brittany smiles at her, climbing gracefully to her feet. Santana avoids looking at her ass. Yes, she certainly does. "Thank you for helping me. Frogs are really dangerous, you know? They're harmful to dogs. Commander of the Armies of the North could've been poisoned and maybe even died. You basically saved his life."

Well, when she put it _that_ way…

Santana straightens up proudly, feeling like she grew about another ten inches tall. "Just doing my job, ma'am."

Brittany smiles playfully at her and escorts her to the door. As Santana walks down to her patrol car, she notices that Brittany is still standing in her doorway, leaning against the frame, watching her go. She tries to stop her heart from doing a one-handed cartwheel, and instead climbs into her patrol car and places her hands on the wheel. She takes a deep breath, relieved that the Signal 22 turned out to not be anything major. She laughs to herself a little as she thinks about how funny the whole situation turned out to be, and then a thought hits her.

She still has to write an incident report.

* * *

It becomes a common occurrence for Brittany to call her for trivial things every shift, though after the second time, when she "thought she heard something" at night- which turned out to be a raccoon- Santana asked her not to call dispatch for problems like that.

Instead, she started calling Santana's cell phone.

Santana's not sure how Brittany got her number, or her schedule, but she suspects Puck or one of the other officers gave it to her. She never calls her when she's not working, and Santana's not sure if she's disappointed or relieved.

To her credit, Santana takes each call seriously, investigating Brittany's problems as if they are real crimes and writing detailed reports about them after, even though they always turn out to be something silly. The raccoon has showed up so often that Brittany named it Ralphy, and Santana can't recall how many times she's chased it from Brittany's yard. She's not sure why it keeps coming back, but she's not complaining. Secretly, she likes having the excuse to be near Brittany, even though she knows she's walking a very thin line.

She remains as professional as possible, even though Brittany has gotten more and more aggressive in her flirting and more and more obvious in her leering. The blonde uses any excuse to run fingers down her bare arm or to hug her. One time she fixed Santana's collar, which got a little rumpled when she was searching under the bed for Brittany's cat, Lord Tubbington, which Brittany was worried might have escaped. The two of them searched the entire mansion- which was no easy task- before finding the fat feline curled up in the catfood pantry, probably in a food coma after eating an entire bag of gourmet treats. He didn't even blink at them.

Santana's come to look forward to Brittany's calls, which have gotten more and more creative. She enjoys the blonde's company; Brittany is genuinely kind and unconventionally smart. She's clever in an ambiguous way, and if Santana wasn't focusing so hard on being professional, aloof, and keeping a straight, serious face, she'd be laughing and joking constantly in her presence.

She knows she's putting herself in a dangerous position, and she's torn. Even though she likes attending to Brittany's ridiculously concocted problems, she feels herself wanting to be closer to her- something she can never be. She tries to focus only on her work, but it's increasingly difficult with Brittany standing _right_ next to her. She knows it's only going to get worse- it's only been two weeks.

"_Sergeant, Pierce is waiting at the office for you_," Puck crackles over her radio, and Santana nearly chokes as a million dirty scenarios rush through her mind. She picks up her radio.

"For what?" she asks hesitantly.

"Her transponder?" Puck replies in a _duh_ voice. Santana feels her face heating up, despite the fact that she's alone. Of course that's what Ms. Pierce wants. Her _transponder_.

Feeling stupid and like someone kicked her puppy all in one, she makes her way to the office, her stomach tensing at the thought of seeing Brittany. When she exits her patrol car, she sees Brittany waiting for her, dressed to kill in short denim shorts and an off-the-shoulder shirt that exposes her collarbones and delicate neck. Santana swallows the surge of desire that wells up in her and squares her shoulders as Brittany's dazzling smile upon seeing her threatens to make her faint. Her blonde hair spills over her shoulders, looking incredibly soft, and wide sunglasses sit perched upon her head. She looks like she might be on her way to the set of a movie. A movie Santana would love to marathon.

"Ms. Pierce," she greets, tone serious. "Here for your transponder?"

"Among other things," Brittany purrs, eyeing her. Santana ignores the heat flooding through her from Brittany's gaze and keeps her posture stiff as she fishes for her keys in her pocket, walking around the side of the office building to a small storage room. She's hyperaware of Brittany staring at her as she makes about three separate attempts to fit the key into the lock. Brittany's gaze has her feeling flustered and she can't think straight.

After she drops the keys, she turns to Brittany and says tensely, "You can wait by your car if you want."

Smirking, Brittany turns silently to walk away, and Santana finally unlocks the door. She pushes on it, and when it doesn't budge she wants to smack herself. Brittany giggles, but obediently moves back to her Audi, and in her mind, Santana beats the shit out of herself as she _pulls_ the door she's opened a hundred times in the past without any sort of problems open.

She really needs to get her shit together. It's not very professional for her to stumble and stammer around some girl- woman- who will be gone in another two weeks.

So as Santana digs for the solvent she will use to clean the small area of Brittany's window where she'll stick the gate transponder, she resolves to take her job more seriously.

* * *

**Sooo what do you guys think? Think Brittany's going to succeed in seducing Santana? ;)**

**There's still 3 more fics to go in the SOLSTICE OF SMUT before the 21st, plus the second chapter of this, so stay tuned, and review if you feel like it. But if not, that's okay.**

**See you next time!**


	2. Protect & Serve

**Warning**: Sex. Duh.

**A/N:** Hi everyone! So sorry for the delay. It was my wifey's birthday, and she straight-up forbid me to do any writing on her birthday, so I wasn't even allowed to touch my laptop. And then yesterday I was crippled with Brittana feels- I really should tell my doctor about it, but meh, it'll probably be okay…

Anyways, thanks for all the reviews, favorites, follows, love, and criticism on the last chapter. I appreciate it! :D

And without further ado, here's the final part to this story. Hopefully it was worth the wait, but probably not, idk.

* * *

The following week, Santana's on night shift to cover a vacation- but does that deter Brittany?

_BRRRIIIING_!

Not. At. All.

Without looking, Santana answers her phone. She already knows who it is.

"Lopez speaking."

"_Santana_," Brittany greets sweetly on the other end, and Santana nearly has a heart attack at the way Brittany says her name.

"Yes?" she stammers, feeling flustered just from the sound of Brittany's voice.

"_I lost power at the house_," Brittany tells her, sounding not at all sad about it. "_Can you come help me _turnon_ my generator_?"

Santana gulps at the sudden, suggestive tone Brittany takes on.

Professional. _Right_.

"Yes, ma'am," Santana answers formally. "I'll be right over."

"_I can't wait_."

Santana freezes, unsure if she heard Brittany correctly or if she just imagined the sexy way Brittany practically moaned her last sentence into the phone. It's silent for a moment while Santana panics, and fumbles for what to say in response, and panics further, and then she just hangs up.

Slamming her palm on the steering wheel in frustration, Santana covers her face with her hands for a brief moment before she takes a deep, calming breath. Then, regaining her composure by reminding herself that she's a _professional_, she pulls her patrol car back onto the main road and makes the now-familiar drive over to Chartreux Avenue.

She takes her time, both because of the rain, and because of her nervousness at being in the Pierce house again with Brittany- _in the dark_. It's pouring outside- which explains why Brittany's power is out to begin with- and as she drives up the slight incline and into the driveway to park her cruiser, she reaches for her hooded, bright orange raincoat beside her in the passenger seat. It's awkward wriggling into it, but once she's slipped it on, and she's certain her gun will be protected, she exits the car and jogs up to Brittany's door. Taking one last deep, reassuring breath, she rings the doorbell and waits, dropping the hood of her raincoat down so that Brittany will be able to immediately recognize her.

As soon as the doorbell rings, a series of loud, intimidating barks sound from inside, and Santana's nerves ramp up to the next level as she hears Brittany's soft voice soothing Commander of the Armies of the North. The door swings open, and instantly, the Pierce dog is checking her out. He blinks up at her before smiling, his tongue hanging out, and then uses that tongue to lick her hand. She pets him in greeting, thankful that they're over the part of their relationship where Santana has to fear for her life in his presence, and when she looks up, she finds Brittany beaming at her, her eyes dark and soft.

"Thanks for coming," Brittany murmurs, and Santana doesn't know how Brittany manages to make her feel so damn proud of herself for putting forth minimal effort, but she really enjoys it.

"It's my job, ma'am," Santana reminds her, noticing the way Brittany's smile falls a little at her words. Her heart pangs slightly and she backtracks- what did she say?

"And that's- _all_?" Brittany clarifies.

Santana swallows, feeling herself heating up under her collar again. She struggles to come up with an appropriate, _professional_ response. "Uh-"

Shit. How does this woman reduce her to such a stumbling idiot? She hates the flicker of sadness on Brittany's face, and she wants to pull the woman into her arms, stroke her pretty blonde hair back from her gorgeous face, and tell her she _loves_ answering her calls, that it makes her feel needed and important, and that she looks forward to seeing Brittany on her shifts, and-

"Where's your generator?" Santana blurts instead.

So much for that.

"Outside. Daddy built it its own little house, right next to the air conditioning unit- at least, I think it's the air conditioning unit. I'm pretty sure they're friends. It's all hooked up and everything, I just-" Brittany drops her eyes, embarrassed. Pink colors her cheeks a little, and Santana wants to kiss all over her face. "I don't know how to activate it. I'm not good with stuff like that," she admits with a half-hearted shrug.

"Don't worry, Ms. Pierce. I'll get it turned on."

It takes half a second for Santana to realize what she's said, but by then it's too late- Brittany's lips quirk up into a playful smile, her eyes mischievous, and in an effort not to be reduced to a stuttering puddle of mush, Santana averts her eyes to Commander of the Armies of the North, who's looking at her like he _knows_ what's up and he's _not_ amused.

When warm fingers creep into her palm and Brittany takes her hand, Santana gulps, her eyes snapping back up to adoring blue ones. Her heart does about an entire cheerleading routine and her stomach practically explodes with butterflies as Brittany pulls her gently into the house.

"I don't want you to trip over unfamiliar furniture," Brittany tells her as she leads her through the house and to the porch. "It's really dark."

Santana would point out that she's actually _very_ familiar with the Pierce house, considering she's been in it almost every shift for the past two weeks, but she can't focus on anything except the way Brittany's hand fits so perfectly in hers, and the way it feels, and the way tingles erupt over her skin from the touch.

She should be used to it by now- the way Brittany smells like heaven, the warmth of her body in close proximity, the endless depths of her blue, blue eyes- but every time she sees Brittany, or is near Brittany, or thinks about Brittany, she's attacked all over again by the woman's perfection. It's so, so unfair.

When they reach the porch, Brittany offers Santana an umbrella to combat the rain, which is still pouring outside. Santana refuses, preferring to keep her hands free to work with the generator, and then, before she can think better of it, she's venturing out into the warm, torrential rain, thinking about how utterly whipped she is for a woman she's not even dating. She makes it to the generator, cranks it to life, flips the power transfer switch, and gives a satisfied smile when the lights in the mansion click back on.

She makes her way back inside, and Brittany greets her at the door.

"You're so wet," she says throatily, and Santana's eyes widen and she nearly chokes on air- is that a legitimate cause of death? What a way to go- her body freezing. Words fail her.

"Will you stay with me for a minute?" Brittany says instead, changing the subject, but not really, because- "I don't like the rain when I'm by myself. It makes the house sound funny."

Santana wants to say _no_.

Well, actually, she wants very badly to say _yes_, but she knows she should probably say _no_.

But the way Brittany's looking at her, hopeful, with just an edge of fear that her eyes seem to be pleading for Santana to chase away, Santana's protective instinct kicks in, and she nods without really processing what she's done. Brittany's face lights up with a smile- Santana's heart pounds at the thought that she's the cause of all these smiles- and then, before Santana can protest, she's stepping forward to unsnap Santana's raincoat.

"Uh- I can- I can do it myself," Santana stammers, blushing, her thoughts running wild.

"Okay," Brittany relents with a teasing smile. She doesn't turn her eyes away, though, and Santana feels suddenly self-conscious as she unsnaps her coat and slips it from her shoulders, hanging it on a hook on the porch. "You can go sit on the couch… do you want a slice of key lime pie?"

Santana opens her mouth to say _no_, but then Brittany adds, "I made it myself!" and her face looks so hopeful and fragile that Santana smiles and says,

"I'd love a piece."

Brittany beams again (Santana's heart melts again) and practically skips to the kitchen, leaving Santana to wander into the living room with Commander of the Armies of the North hot on her heels, investigating her boots. She takes a seat on the couch and waits, tapping her hands on her knees nervously, wondering what the fuck she just got herself into. It's silent. The dog stares at her expectantly, so she reaches to pet him, and continues the action until Brittany enters, carrying a plate and a fork.

"I told you Max likes you," Brittany says softly, handing the plate to Santana and bending down far enough to show off her ample cleavage. Santana clenches her jaw and accepts her plate, forcing herself not to stare at the curve of Brittany's breasts and feeling herself growing tenser by the second, her nerves jittery. The feeling intensifies when Brittany sits _right_ next to her on the couch, and their thighs touch. Santana can feel the heat of Brittany's leg, even through her uniform pants.

She forces her attention on the slice of pie. It looks pretty good- _really_ good, actually- and she hesitantly takes a huge bite; the sooner she finishes it, the sooner she can leave, after all.

"How is it?" Brittany breathes, and Santana pauses in her chewing to spare a quick glance at the woman, becoming very aware of the fact that Brittany is watching her with burning interest, her blue eyes dark as they stare intently at her mouth, tracing over her lips.

Santana feels that panic overtaking her again from the way Brittany is looking at her- and then Brittany licks her lips. Santana's heart pounds, and she struggles to recall the conversation they were just having, to break the tension, _anything_-

"It's- really good," she says nervously. "Aren't you having a piece?"

"I had one already," Brittany says lowly, her predatory eyes never leaving Santana's mouth. Then, she smiles a little, her expression softening. "And thank you- I'm glad you like it. I used fresh key limes, and I wasn't really sure how it was gonna turn out because I've never used them before, but Daddy has a tree in the backyard so I figured I might as well use them because Daddy actually meant to plant a pomegranate tree, so-" she pauses in her ramble when she notices Santana's staring at her, reaching up to tuck a lock of her silky-looking blonde hair behind her ear. She blushes a little. "Sorry- sometimes I get carried away with what I'm saying," she mumbles.

Santana smiles slowly, pretty sure her dimples are showing. She finds Brittany absolutely endearing and interesting and adorable and perfect. She's positive that she could, in fact, listen to her talk all day. "It's all right, ma'am," she reassures, setting her empty plate down on the table before her. Then, in an effort to show she was actively listening and enjoying Brittany's speech, she adds, "I've never had one."

"A key lime?"

"No- a pomegranate."

"Really?" Brittany asks, shocked. "They're not my favorite because they have such a short time when they're in season and if they were my favorite I'd be sad that I couldn't have one whenever I wanted, but I do like them a lot."

Santana nods, feeling overwhelmed by Brittany's adorableness- and her nearness. The entire time she's been talking, she's been leaning closer to Santana, and Santana's been leaning away, desperately trying to maintain the miniscule bubble of space between them and retain her sanity.

It's quiet for a moment while Brittany studies Santana's face and Santana looks everywhere but into dark blue eyes; then the blonde leans even closer, and Santana clenches her jaw as the smell of Brittany's shampoo punches her in the face, and the thought of Brittany in the shower shampooing her hair punches her in the gut.

When Brittany speaks, Santana swears it's in her _bedroom voice_, and Santana can't even clench her thighs together for fear Brittany will notice.

"Are you scared of me?"

"No, ma'am," Santana reassures. She's not _scared_, per se-

"My name's Brittany, you know," she purrs. "You can call me _Brittany_."

"Yes, ma'am."

Brittany giggles- _sexily_- and then her hand falls to Santana's thigh. Santana swallows, feeling the warmth of Brittany's hand as if it's burning through her pants, and inside her brain is on full panic. Especially when Brittany breathes, "I'm really into you," in her ear, the warmth and words and tone all sending shocks of arousal spreading through her body. Her pulse races. Her heart pounds. She might actually be having a heart-attack, come to think of it-

She's got to leave, she decides. Work to be done and all that. Yep. Definitely. "I- I- really should be getting back to-" her words are cut off with a sharp intake of breath as Brittany's hand dares higher on her thigh, her fingers stroking the fabric lightly. Santana bites her lip and shuts her eyes.

Soft, moist lips press to Santana's jaw, a tongue darts out to lick along it, and Santana feels like she might faint as she connects that those are Brittany's lips, that that's Brittany's tongue teasing her pulse point. She grabs the couch cushion with her fist, needing something to hold on to, something to help her find the strength to stand up and leave, something to ground her in the reality that _this is unprofessional_ as she shivers with restraint, willing herself not to cave.

"Brittany-" Santana gasps in protest- but not _really_- as the woman nips at her skin and explosions of pleasure spread out from the area. This is not going as well as she'd hoped-

"Mmhm," Brittany hums, inhaling the way Santana smells, her nose skimming along heated tan skin, her warm breath making Santana shiver, making the back of her neck tingle, and fuck, she _really_ needs to get out of here.

Santana pulls away, standing up abruptly. She's embarrassed to admit that she's panting, and the look in Brittany's eyes that screams _I want you_ almost has her leaning forward and fucking Brittany right there on her father's couch.

But that wouldn't be very professional.

She shifts from one foot to the other awkwardly, trying to regain her composure, and stutters, "I should go- I have-"

Her words won't come, so before Brittany can protest, before she can grab her hand or touch her again and completely shatter her defenses, she turns and flees from the house.

She makes it all the way to her patrol car before she realizes she left her raincoat. Once inside, she curses herself, resting her forehead on the steering wheel and trying to slow the pounding of her pulse between her legs. Not only is she more turned on than she's ever been in her life, but she's also soaking wet from the rain, and she still has two hours of her shift left.

Fuck.

* * *

Santana's never been so relieved to have a day off. A day off means no constantly being on edge, no constantly having her defenses up and fighting off the advances of a woman that she actually wants to embrace. A day off means no Brittany Pierce.

And that's the problem. Her heart sinks.

No Brittany Pierce.

Santana half hopes that she'll call, but she doesn't. She respects Santana's personal time, which only makes Santana adore her even more for being so considerate and thoughtful. Santana sighs, frustrated with her whole situation. She is so fucked. She can't get Brittany out of her brain- she's been lying in bed thinking about her for over an hour.

She's not dumb; she knows it's only a matter of time before Brittany breaks through her walls. She's only a woman, after all. She has needs. She has _desires_. And all of them revolve around Brittany Pierce. She's not sure she can resist the woman for much longer- she still has to survive an entire week.

Groaning into her pillow, she berates herself for being so weak. She's got to hold onto her professionalism. Caving is _not_ an option. She's got to perform her job to the best of her abilities, and leave her personal feelings at the door, or she'll never make it into the FBI.

She's got to focus on her career, and forget everything else-

Blue eyes pop into her mind, and Santana groans again. Truthfully, she's fooling herself. She's not sure she can remain professional. Not with the way Brittany affects her. She's like her fucking kryptonite, like her color yellow, and she can't figure out why.

But she does know, sooner or later, Brittany's going to win.

* * *

Two afternoons later, Santana arrives for her shift, already on edge. She's got her walls double enforced today, with steel cross-beams, and she's not going to let Brittany in. She's going to remain aloof, serious, and professional. Yep. That's what she's going to do.

She signs in, feeling positive about her resolve, and after she's collected her equipment, she heads out to her cruiser, ready to start her patrol. As she exits the office, however, she's surprised to find Brittany leaning against her car, clutching something small and round between her palms. The blonde looks up as Santana approaches, and her expression almost seems- nervous?

"Hi," Brittany says shyly.

This is it. Time to show her the new, professional Lopez. Maximum aloofness. Right.

"Ms. Pierce," Santana acknowledges stiffly, feeling pretty proud of herself. "Can I help you with something?"

"Well, uhm," Brittany stammers, blushing, and just like that, Santana's walls get kicked the fuck down. Just- smashed to bits. Her heart races, pounds. How is Brittany so adorable?

The woman thrusts her hand out, handing her whatever she's holding. "Here."

Santana accepts the object- _fruit_?- and inspects it. It's round, heavy, and magenta-colored, and-

"It's a pomegranate," Brittany explains, her eyes darting around nervously, avoiding Santana's eyes, and Santana is surprised to see such a less-confident, sweet side of Brittany. She can't decide _which_ Brittany she likes more. "They're out of season, so I had it specially flown in from Saveh."

Santana stares at the fruit incredulously. She has no idea _where_ that is, or how it got here so fast, but she has a good idea that it must've cost Brittany a small fortune to have it shipped to her. Her insides do a little melty thing, and she smiles fondly at the fruit. Brittany got it for her, for no other reason than because she wanted Santana to try something she'd never had before.

Well fuck if that doesn't accurately represent her life.

Whatever's left of Santana's walls come crumbling down as she looks up into Brittany's uncertain expression and offers her a reassuring smile. "Brittany… thank you. You didn't have to do this for me."

"I wanted to," Brittany says, smiling her soft smile. They gaze into each other's eyes for a long moment, and Santana's never felt a stronger need to kiss Brittany than she does right now. She licks her lips, and Brittany waits, and then Santana's radio crackles.

"_Central to 624._"

She sighs. Brittany smiles understandingly. "I'll see you later, San," she murmurs, reaching for her hand and giving her pinky a brief squeeze. Santana's heart breaks out into a full tap-dancing routine, complete with scissor steps, and all she can do is watch as Brittany turns to leave, walking down the sidewalk. She stares dumbly after her, holding a pomegranate, and remembering the way Brittany's pinky felt wrapped around hers for the two seconds that they touched.

"_Central to 624_," the radio insists.

Santana sighs again. "624, go ahead."

(She doesn't realize until twenty minutes later, when she's replaying the conversation in her head for the fifteenth time, that Brittany called her _San_.)

* * *

Later that night on her meal break, Santana looks up _how to eat a pomegranate_ on her phone, and when she finally gets her first taste of the fruit, she thinks of blue eyes and a dazzling smile, and she's never tasted anything better.

She thinks pomegranate might be her new favorite fruit.

* * *

Santana doesn't hear from Brittany for her next two shifts. She's a little relieved, but mostly disappointed. She misses her, but it's for the best, right? At least, that's what she tells herself as she drives by the Pierce house. There's an unfamiliar car parked in the driveway, and Santana briefly wonders if maybe Brittany's moved on, if she's met someone else, and it pretty much breaks her sensitive heart. She can't be with Brittany, but damn, she doesn't want to see Brittany with anyone else, either. She's so conflicted.

Maybe Brittany's waiting for her to make the next move. After all, Brittany's pursued her this whole time, and Santana's done nothing but resist her. It wouldn't be too much for Brittany to expect her to show a little initiative. Not that she can.

Santana spends the rest of her week feeling miserable, her stomach twisting with fear and a little jealousy.

She wishes things could be different.

* * *

At the end of the week, Santana's assigned an overnight shift to cover a call-out. She's stuck at the west gate entrance into the community, and even though it's the least-used entrance so she will literally probably see no traffic, Santana's kind of thankful, because she has a mountain of paperwork she needs to work on. She'd received an email that morning that the FBI were finally hiring, so she'd gathered all her needed documentation to bring to work, ready to start filling out forms.

She's on page 18 when the door to her gatehouse opens, and as she looks up, she sees Brittany entering boldly, dressed in a gray button-up shirt and a black, short skirt, looking like a sex goddess. Santana swallows, but reminds herself- _professional_. She stands to escort Brittany back out of the gatehouse, a serious expression on her face.

"Ms. Pierce, you can't be in here, it's only for authorized-"

And then Brittany shuts her up with a kiss. Santana tries to pull away- well, not _really_- but Brittany's not having any of that. She reaches to cup the back of Santana's neck, holding her in place as her lips attack hers. Santana feels like Brittany's devouring her; she's never been kissed so aggressively before. Brittany's lips are as soft as she'd imagined, and when her tongue swipes over her bottom lip, demanding entrance to her mouth, Santana gives it to her, feeling a hard throb of arousal hit straight between her legs.

She's done resisting.

She kisses Brittany back fiercely, her stomach tensing from the way Brittany moans against her mouth. When they break apart for air, Brittany pushes her, and she falls back in the chair she'd been occupying. Then, without hesitation, Brittany moves forward and straddles her lap, sliding arms around her neck and reaching up to tug Santana's tight ponytail free. Brittany's fingers tangle in her hair roughly, and Santana grips the armrests of her chair, struggling not to let herself get too out of control, struggling to remember that she's at work, that someone might see them-

"Touch me," Brittany demands, hot and low in her ear, and Santana sucks in a shaky breath before letting her hands slide along Brittany's bare, toned thighs. At Brittany's encouraging moan, she continues her exploration around to Brittany's ass and can't help squeezing. Their mouths find each other again and then they're kissing heatedly; Santana allows Brittany to explore her mouth, and each time their tongues brush together, it sends another hard jolt of arousal through her body. She cants her hips up, squirming slightly in her seat as Brittany rolls her hips above her and tugs gently on her hair.

The longer they kiss, the more Santana's brain decides to go on a faraway trip into some foggy abyss. All she can concentrate on is Brittany practically riding her lap, how good Brittany's mouth feels against hers, how soft and silky her tongue is, how incredible she smells, how her body reacts to her touch-

When Santana's hands slip under Brittany's shirt to rub at her lower back, Brittany arches against her, and Santana feels her last ounce of restraint leave her body.

Fuck it.

She twists to kiss Brittany's pulse point. She'd let her professionalism hold her back, make her timid, but now that the awkward _will she, won't she_ game is over, Santana's more than happy to let her own dominant side out. She wraps arms around Brittany's waist and guides her back onto her desk, sparing only a fleeting thought for her application papers. She can always print them out again later.

She leans over Brittany and kisses her, then kisses down her jaw to her neck, where she spends a little time sucking and biting, memorizing all of Brittany's different reactions to her mouth. As her mouth moves lower, she reaches to unbutton Brittany's shirt, groaning as it comes undone and reveals soft, flawless skin and no bra. Her heartbeat quickens and she glides her tongue across Brittany's collarbone, listening to the moans and whimpers coming from the girl beneath her. Brittany's hands tighten in her hair, and she smiles against her skin.

Payback's a bitch.

Santana takes her time kissing and exploring all over Brittany's perfect breasts. They're soft, and perfect, and her nipples are hard, and just- Santana moans as she licks, and sucks, and bites all over them. Brittany moans, and whimpers, and tugs at her hair, and even begs a little under her breath, and when Santana bites the soft flesh over her heart, sucking gently to leave a mark, Brittany bucks her hips up eagerly, then guides Santana back into another hungry kiss, wrapping her thigh around her waist.

"Touch me," she breathes again. "I'm not wearing underwear."

Santana bites her lip and groans, shaking a little with how much she wants to make Brittany come for her. She finds Brittany's dark blue eyes, she holds her gaze as she slides her left hand up the inside of Brittany's bare thigh, feeling the muscles flex and tense beneath her touch. Brittany's warm, and it makes Santana's stomach twist with desire knowing how much Brittany wants her.

When she finally touches Brittany's slick heat, Brittany releases a low moan, letting her head fall back to the desk. She squeezes her eyes shut and thrusts her hips encouragingly as Santana teases through her folds, brushing against her swollen clit and dipping into her entrance. Santana's amazed at how wet Brittany is; she knew Brittany wanted her, but not _this_ bad. She savors how soft and slippery her sex is, and after a few more moments, Brittany lets out a frustrated huff.

"_Fuck_ _me_, Santana. I've been waiting for weeks already-" Brittany's words end on a sharp gasp as Santana drives her fingers into her tight heat, leaning over her to lick at her neck again, the sound of Brittany cursing making her shiver.

"Is this what you want?" Santana murmurs against her skin, and Brittany's breathless _yes_ has Santana pushing deeper, starting up a steady rhythm between her legs. Brittany pulls her into another kiss, and Santana groans at the way Brittany squeezes around her fingers, as if trying to draw her in deeper. Brittany feels incredible, and she still can't believe she's fucking her on her desk- at work- while she's on duty.

She takes her time building Brittany up, but the height of the desk gives her the perfect angle to grind against the back of her hand, and sooner than she'd like, she's stepping up the tempo, determined to make Brittany fall over with her. Her hand pounds between Brittany's legs, and all the while, she's kissing her, sucking her bottom lip, biting at her chest, running her tongue over Brittany's hard nipples. She's left at least three marks across Brittany's chest and collarbones, and it makes her throb even harder at the sight of them on Brittany's smooth skin- as if she's claimed Brittany for herself. She likes the idea of the blonde belonging to her.

"I have a confession," Brittany pants against Santana's ear, whimpering as Santana hits _her_ _spot_ inside. "I've been dying for this- for your fingers inside me- since the first time I saw your face."

Santana groans into Brittany's neck at the words, pushing as deep as she can, searching- "Fuck-"

"Oh- _oh_, right there, _fuck_, Santana-"

Brittany's nails dig into her shoulders, and as she feels Brittany tightening even more around her fingers, she leans down to kiss her, swallowing her moan of release as she comes. The way Brittany's hips jerk up, and the way she tightens her arms around her, the way she gasps for breath, the way she feels _inside_ all help push Santana over the edge, and she shudders, letting her weight drop against Brittany, who holds her close, stroking fingers through her hair as she comes down.

Panting against Brittany's shoulder, Santana's never felt so satisfied, and she lets a stupid grin overtake her face for a moment before she remembers-

Shit. She's still at work.

She scrambles up from her position on top of Brittany on top of her FBI application on top of her desk, her heart racing at the thought that someone might have seen them. She looks out the window, scanning the darkness, but it's silent and still. Empty. She breathes a sigh of relief.

When she turns back to Brittany, she finds the blonde fixing her blouse, buttoning it and covering her sinfully flawless skin once again. Santana's heart falls slightly at the loss. She swallows, unsure of what to say, but Brittany smiles slightly at her and climbs shakily to her feet. She leans in to press a gentle, but searing, kiss to Santana's lips, and when she pulls back, she smirks- sexily- and Santana feels her heart pounding at the way her hair is mussed and her clothes are rumpled, because of _her_.

"All those times I called you," Brittany starts softly, "I didn't _really_ hear anything... I just wanted to see you." Santana fumbles for words, but none come. She doesn't know how to answer, but Brittany continues, "Will you come over after your shift?"

Still uncertain of her speech capabilities, Santana can only nod. The smile Brittany sends her in return lets her know she's answered correctly, though. Brittany presses one more last, lingering kiss to her lips and turns to go. When she reaches the door, she pauses, looking at Santana playfully over her shoulder.

"Oh- and just so you know, Daddy's expedition is heading to North Sentinel Island; they'll be gone for another month… so I'm going to need an extension on my transponder expiration."

Santana watches, dumbfounded, as Brittany exits, leaving her standing in the gatehouse, still looking tousled. She runs a hand through her hair to straighten it, then gathers up her hair-tie and fixes her high ponytail. Her eyes fall to her FBI application, which is now crinkled, but she doesn't care. She can print another one in a matter of minutes, and she was only on page 18.

Brittany's words echo through her head, and she smiles to herself. Another month of frogs, raccoons, pomegranates, and who knows what else. Another month of Brittany Pierce.

Santana has no idea what she's in for, but one thing's for certain-

She can't say nothing exciting happens at her job anymore.

* * *

**Theeeeee END! (And they lived happily ever after.)**

**Thanks for reading, and sorry again for the delay. Review if you feel like it, but if not, well, that's okay. I'll see you next time! **

**AND NOW A WORD FROM ~OFFICER SAFETY: **

**Having sex at work sounds like an awesome idea- until you get FIRED. **

**Also, dating someone you work with never ends well- look at Dantana. (AAAHHAHAHAHAH YOU SEE WHAT I DID THERE?! BECAUSE DANTANA IS NOT GOING TO END WELL!?) **

**Anyways. If you want to keep your job, and your relationship, then fucking keep the two separate. There are plenty of other places you can fuck a bitch. Go to someone else's work, if you have to. (Just don't get caught. The last thing you need is someone's boss walking in on you bangin' some hottie. Talk about a buzzkill.)**

**And that's all I have to say about that!  
**

**PLAY SAFE AND STAY SAFE! **

**See you soon, pals! **


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